Erogenous!: Stories about Ahoges and other Joys
by SuperetteCartwheel
Summary: Featuring what will soon be dozens of reader-requested stories about the ever-interesting E-zones of various nations.
1. Introduction

Magical Disclaimers: I do not own Hetalia. If I did, I wouldn't be writing _fan_fiction.

The following will contain explicit content and is rated M for Mature.

Said explicit content will most likely be with gay men.

You have been warned.

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><p>Hey there, everyone!<p>

My name is **SuperetteCartwheel, or Super!** I'm here with a rather interesting idea.

Who out there likes **Hetalia?** *raises hand*

Who likes stories about **ahoges/ erogenous zones/ and the like?** *raises hand*

Who** can't ever seem to find enough stories for that sort of thing?** *raises hand*

Well, that'll end right here.

Here's the dealio: you need stories to read, I like to write them.

_So I will be taking requests._

**You supply the below information and PM it to me**. I write the story and add it as a chapter here. In time, this one "story" will be filled with **hundreds of Hetalia fanfics, centered around the erogenous zones of the characters.**

(If that sounds silly, **you obviously don't know our pain**.)

So do it. It's your duty as a fan.

Thanks, kids!

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><p>*NOTE:* The first story, following this intro, is only a teaser of what is to come. Also, I kind of need to actually have a story to make this legal.<p>

The actual stories won't be nearly as short. XD

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><p><strong>For Requests, (remember, PM it to me!), you must include:<strong>

Character 1

What their E-zone is

Character 2, (optional)

Noun or verb

**Optional: Let me know if you want it to be historical or not. Otherwise, it will be a simple non-historical story.**

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><p>Teaser story to validate the above:<p>

Romano was hidden, safe and sound, in his closet.

The Italian curled in the farthest corner from the door, his legs pulled close to his chest as he hid behind a row of hanging coats, some of which he had pulled down to make a makeshift bed.

How long had it been? His watch had run out of batteries. His phone was left on the little table just outside the closet, sitting on his nightstand, but he wasn't leaving to go get it, damnit.

They would catch him.

How he had gotten there was a bit of a long story, but he'd be damned if he wasn't bored out of his mind at this point.

Oh, and he was starving. There was that.

But he needed something to do, so Romano curled closer to the wall, thinking over the events of the last few days.

It had started with the Spanish bastard. It was always _his_ fault, of course. He was an oblivious idiot, blundering about in that clumsy, (totally _not_ amazing), way of his.

Honestly, Romano was suprised an incident hadn't happened earlier.

The memory of that morning was fuzzy. The events after it had made the mundane details even paler.

There he had been, minding his one damn business, just trying to make some breakfast without being disturbed.

And then Spain had come over.

Spain had it in his head that Romano had invited him over for breakfast because he was a freaking idiot. But Romano couldn't force him from the house and no amount of screaming profanity seemed to have an effect.

In fact, in the Spaniard's own words, it "only made him cuter."

Whatever the hell he meant by that.

So in the struggle to expell the annoying man from his house, it happened.

One stumble to the floor, one overly enthusiastic tackle hug, one misplaced hand.

One misplaced hand directly on his curl.

The details suddenly bloomed clearly in the Italian's mind and he coughed unhappily as the memory came to him.

The gentle touch of Spain's hand on his curl, the warmth of his skin pressing the unfortunate hair against the cold of the floor.

The blood that rushed to his face, the small sigh that slipped unbidden from his mouth.

And the green eyes suspended above his own hazel ones that morphed from playful to confused.

"Oy, Romano. What's wrong? Your face is turning all red like-"

"_D-don't_..." Romano managed, reaching up weakly to push the other man away. He didn't budge however, still kneeling above the Italian in concern, steadying himself on one hand.

One hand that shifted subtly and oh-_so_-gently against the curl pinned against the floor.

The warmth from Spain's hand seemed to travel through his hair, seeping into his face and travelling downwards to fill his heart with shaky tremors.

"L-let go of m-me, you b-bastard..." he finally spit, his vision going hazy from the stimulation. Another minute and Spain would know what he was doing.

Another minute and Spain would be unstoppable.

But Spain was worried and leapt to his feet, helping the dazed Italian off the floor. Romano felt unsteady on his feet, but the warmth was slowly receding.

"Romano~," he laughed, enraging the shorter man, (Didn't Spain take _anything_ seriously?), "What's got you all upset now? Did you hit your head on the floor?"

"S-something like that..." he muttered in response, throwing Spain's arm off his shoulder.

"Something?" Spain asked, mussing Romano's hair and making him flinch. "Then what was it, Tomato?"

He removed his hand, not watching out for what he was doing.

The troublesome curl was tangled hopelessly around his finger.

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><p>Aaaaaaaand it's a "to be continued." Like I said, it was only a teaser to make sure I'm not taken down for not having a story attached to this.<p>

Want something actually worth reading, with dialogue and methaphor and detail? Get those forms in!


	2. Spamano Teaser Story Part 2

Here's the continutation of the teaser story from the introduction. I've decided that I will continue it whenever requests are slow, so this will be an on going story.

As a side note, I've literally never written this stuff before. You'll have to give me time to feel comfortable writing it.

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><p>The tug against his curl sent a warm shiver down Romano's spine and made his knees tremble. He clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to let out a single noise. God forbid Spain found out anything... he'd never get any peace if that ever happened.<p>

"Romano?" the Spaniard asked, his joking demeanor gone. His green eyes held nothing but concern for the Italian, who struggled to remove his hand from his hair, his short fingers gripping his wrist with desperate, frantic motions.

No matter how he tried, Romano couldn't seem to get Spain's hand off of him. Tears sprung to his eyes and he cursed softly. The tugging on Spain's arm was leading to the same soft tugging on his hair, which in turn made waves of heat travel down his spine to settle in his stomach.

He heard, distantly, Spain saying that he should sit down, that he looked sick, that maybe a doctor should be called. Romano's eyes drifted shut, still absent-mindedly pulling at Spain's arm.

_It felt good, damnit,_ Romano rationalized, coming back to the present in the closet. He reached up and gently touched the little curl, his touch too light to cause any reaction. _Not that Spain had anything to do with it in particular._

And it had felt good. The gentle pull did something to him that he couldn't explain. Perhaps it was because he was always so chaste, and the sudden onslaught of feeling had left him witless.

The next thing he remembered was Spain's finger being ever so gently unravelled from his curl, the now-welcome warmth and tension leaving him dazed, standing in the kitchen. He almost opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it, realizing what had been going on.

Then he found himself on the couch in his living room, Spain's smile shining through the haze that filled his eyes.

"What's wrong, Romano?" he said, sounding worried but keeping his light, laughing tone. Romano shook his head lightly, attempting to shake away the pleasant tremors that were still sneaking into his body.

"I... hit m-my head, d-damnit," he finally replied, letting the anger seep back in. Honestly, what the hell was this idiot thinking? Hadn't he put two and two together yet? Or had he really not realized what was going on?

He looked up into the other's green eyes, a shock of warmth threading through him again. Spain's kindly smile, his wide, oblivious eyes...

Romano shook himself again, convincing himself that it was only the after-effects of the curl pulling that were making him feel like this, all disoriented and confused.

"Well, are you ok?" Spain asked, kneeling on the floor in front of the Italian to peer into his face. "Because you sounded like you got hurt just a minute ago."

Romano took a shaky breath. So he had made some noise after all.

"It's nothing, damnit. I'm n-not weak, you know."

"I never said you were," the other man said, reaching out to muss up his hair again.

Honestly, what was it with that bastard and touching his hair?

This time, much to Romano's despair, the motion wasn't roughly playful but gentle and almost sweet, as if Spain was trying to make the non-existant pain go away.

He felt his curl pressed against his head, felt the friction of his other hairs brushing the sensitive one from one side as Spain's warm palm covered the other. His eyes fluttered shut as the warmth that had slowly receded came back full force, turning his bones into rubber.

Romano pried his eyes open, looking straight at the Spaniard, who was confused once more. He stopped moving his hand but kept it there, cradling Romano's head in his hand. His brows knitted together, and Romano almost swore he could see the gears turning in his mind.

Suddenly, a brilliant, understanding smile broke out on Spain's face, an innocent smile that disguised something not so innocent.

He had figured it out.

"Ah," he chuckled, moving closer to Romano. The Italian had slid down on the couch, and Spain's own height made them almost level with one another. "It makes much more sense now, Romano. The noises, the red face. You didn't really hit your head, did you?"

Romano opened his mouth to protest otherwise but was swiftly shut up by a gentle yet firm kiss, a gesture that made him sink back into his seat in both suprise and pleasure.

Spain pulled back away and chuckled again, his eyes dancing with happiness.

"I don't know when I'll next get to see you like this. I hope you don't mind," he explained, letting go of Romano's curl to trail his hand gently down the Italian's arm, sending shivers down his spine.

Romano found his voice, finally.

"O-of course I m-mind, d-damnit!" he spat, attempting to sit up, but a soft tug on his curl suddenly made movement impossible.

"I don't think you do mind," Spain said, curling and uncurling the little hair around his finger. Romano couldn't stop himself from arching off the couch, his fingers digging into the unyielding fabric.

Spain was right. He didn't mind. He didn't mind that his bastard of a friend was being a bastard and playing with his damn hair. But he wasn't going to let the Spaniard know that.

It's not like it was really _Spain_ making him feel like this, right? It was the _hair._

He was brought back to earth by another kiss, this one slightly more forceful, pushing his head back against the couch. His arms, useless against the onslaught, pushed softly against Spain's chest to push him away but made no success.

And the entire time, Spain's hand was gently, _maddeningly_ gently, and slowly, _maddeningly_ slowly, stroking his curl from base to tip.

A light moan fell from his lips as Romano tried to catch his breath. The warmth was moving downwards again, settling in a tight band around his lower stomach.

Spain knew exactly what he was doing and pulled himself off the floor to balance on one knee, said knee resting just between Romano's legs, (which had fallen away from each other, exposing him, without the Italian noticing.) The slight pressure did nothing to help his case.

"Look at you, Romano~," Spain breathed, his own face lightly tinted red.

The Italian was sprawled on the sofa, legs akimbo, arms curled against his chest. His eyes were half-closed and hazy, the bright hazel distorted by their watery appearance. He was blushing a bright, merciless red that covered his face and neck with its warmth, and his mouth hung open ever-so-slightly, letting his uneven breath out.

Romano managed a powerfully angry glare up at his tormentor, but it was pointless. Spain only leaned in again, his leg pressing against him, holding him down yet making him want to move, and kissed him so deeply that he barely had time to breath.

"This is great," he breathed into Romano's ear, his breath ruffling against his curl, making him twist in the Spaniard's firm grasp.

He agreed. Dear God, did he agree. Part of him was horrified. The rest of him wasn't horrified in the least.

A light tug made him open his eyes, meeting Spain's.

An electric shock came over him as their gazes met, and a final swift pull of his curl made him lean up from the couch to draw Spain's lips back down to his.

It was only moments later that Spain pulled away, a devious smile on his face.

"Not yet, Tomato," he laughed, kissing him chastely on the cheek and finally releasing his curl. "I'm having too much fun to go farther now."

Romano would had exploded if he could still use his limbs. How dare the Spaniard just come over here and... _tease_ him like this? It was humiliating enough that he had to let him do it. Why didn't the bastard finish the job?

With a final, affectionate flick of his curl, Spain wandered into the next room, leaving Romano to wait for his senses to return.

As the tension below started to ebb away, (what? Like he was going to rub one out with Spain still in his house? Hell no), he heard rapid Spanish coming from the other room.

Spain was on the phone?

_He spent the morning molesting me and he decides to make a phone call?_ Romano thought, his anger returning to him. _The bastard is probably bragging!_

And bragging he was. Romano never managed to learn Spanish, but the damn language was close enough to Italian to make out a few words.

"...Romano... house... hair... yes, France, ... _truth_! ... Prussia, ok?"

Romano's eyes shot wide open and it took only moments to stumble off the couch and speed up the stairs.

And that was how he had come to be locked in the closet for a few days, hiding from the malicious nations.

Spain had returned to the house several times and tried to coax him out, but Romano wouldn't have it, (though the bastard _had_ come so close to convincing him.)

But he couldn't come out.

Spain was one thing. Spain and his two best friends were another.

If they knew, he would be trapped in there forever.

Just as his reminiscing ended, he heard the door to his bedroom creak open.

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><p>Bam! Another cliff hanger.<br>Keep the requests coming!

-Super

PS: The review button is my erogenous zone. 3


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